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“Mom.”
“Yeah?”
“We already have everything. We have each other.”
She hugs me, and I inhale mandarin and apple, citrus and sweet. “I love you so much I’m out of room.”
“No, you’re not. You can’t be.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” My mom adjusts herself on the pillows. “What do you think? Want to watch a movie?”
“Tell me some more about the beach.”
Her voice becomes the sun and the sand and the waves. The cabana with pillows and blankets and the breeze. My mom, grinning at me with a huge pair of sunglasses on.I miss you. You don’t have to miss me. I’m right here.
My head slips on the wall and I startle out of the dream.
I havenoidea what time it is. Or why I came all the way over here. Or why I’m sitting on the floor in the hallway.
Standing up is no easy task. I should be able to add it to my resume later with a full description of how awful I feel. I clear my throat to call for Sean and the twins.Ow.Jesus, that’s painful. Some Tylenol would probably help, but how am I supposed to swallow any of the pills in the medicine cabinet? It would be easier to eat a whole glass.
Worry shivers in a cold wave down my spine.
Sean’s not here. He left. And I don’t hear the twins. It’s too quiet in here.
A flash of terror closes my throat.Shit,that hurts. I put a hand up to protect it from the pain, which doesn’t make any sense. The important thing is to get to the kitchen.
If the gunman is in there, I’m going to be screwed. There’s no alternative, though. I don’t have my phone. Left it somewhere. Even if I had it, what would I say?
It’s up to me to handle this.
It takes all my energy to get to the kitchen.
To theemptykitchen. Mia and Ben aren’t here.
Why did I ever leave the couch? Why did I ever leave my bed?
A few steps along the countertop, and I stop for a break. Maybe theyarein here, and I just can’t see them. They could have gone past me and into their bedroom. Anyone could have, really. I was sleeping in the hall for no reason.
“Mia.” It’s so terrible. Hurts so much. It’s such a specific pain. “Ben.”
The doorknob rattles.
I whip my head toward it. The knife block is too far to reach. The thought of lunging for it turns my stomach.
It rattles again.
“Wait.”
A muffled sawing sound leaks into the kitchen. Why would anybody need to saw the door open? Oh, my God, it’s the gunman. He brought a saw.
But—no. It’s not a saw. It’s a key in the lock. That doesn’t mean it’s safe. He could be making somebody open the door at gunpoint. The landlord, maybe. Or worse, the twins.
The knob turns.
There’s nothing I can do to stop it.
The door swings open.
